Being A Bad Girl
by Lord Youko
Summary: Tired of Miroku's unending lies and womanizing, Sango once decided she has had it with being a good girl. Who better be bad with than a hot, ruthless demon prince with no morals? LEMON! Sess/Sango D/s Oneshot COMPLETE


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inuyasha and make no money from the writing of this fic.

**Warnings:** This fic will contain a lemon, explicit language, some violence. Don't like, don't read.

_**Summary:**__ Tired of Miroku's unending lies and womanizing, Sango once decided she has had it with being a good girl. Who better be bad with than a hot, ruthless demon prince with no morals? LEMON! Sess/Sango_

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><p><em><strong>Story: Being A Bad Girl<strong>_

_"I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it." _

— _Mae West_

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><p>He was nothing like Miroku.<p>

This was the first thought that occurred to Sango, looking up into the burning amber eyes of Sesshoumaru.

For once in her life, she gave way to the heart wrenching sobs that shook her body, the tears which streaked her muddy cheeks comically, the flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks, staining them blotchy red. She could still see Miroku, standing naked and trembling, with his head thrown back, beautiful long fingers entangled in the hair of some eager village girl who serviced him with her mouth. It had been almost a physical blow for her and she had fled as fast as her legs would carry her.

She had come to this small clearing and collapsed on her knees and cried and after a while, had looked up to find the inscrutable demon Lord staring down at her.

Sango knew that she did not look pretty when she cried, and had it been Miroku here, in the place of this stoic youkai prince, the monk would have immediately knelt down next to her and wrapped his arms around her and comforted her with sweet nothings.

But he wasn't here. He was elsewhere, asking any and every female within his eyesight to bear his child. The man who flirted tenderly with her, the man whose 'cursed' hand always found her bottom whenever she was close, the man whose molestations were her secret, guilty joy, the man whom she had come to love was right now doing the very same things to another female, to another piece of ass, was eyeing another pair of pretty breasts the same way he eyed hers. Other females were not as disagreeable as her; some of them acquiesced to his offers.

And when he came back to their group, he would be as serene and unapologetic as ever. He would look at her with those warm, twinkling brown eyes and she would smile and feel her heart break. He would grope her eventually and she would smack him and he would smile as though he'd just won the lottery. Life would go on as usual.

She wanted to hurt him.

But instead, here she was, on her knees in the middle of nowhere being stared down by the king of the kind she had sworn to destroy. Here she was, a taiji-ya par excellence, the best in her business, being stupid and vulnerable and weak in front of a taiyoukai.

She should have been ashamed and furious. What was Sesshoumaru doing here anyway in the middle of nowhere just standing and watching her most intimate moments? She should have felt anger, humiliation, fire at this witness to her break down.

But she didn't.

She could not seem to bring herself to care about the spectacle she was making of herself, about letting the demon Lord see her without her armour with her heart bared and vulnerable. She felt no more for him seeing her like this than she did about any tree in the surrounding forest, looking down at her implacably.

She glanced up at him through teary eyes and had a sudden vision of his hand on her ass instead of Miroku, of Sesshoumaru grabbing her without her permission.

The colour in her cheeks brightened and she felt a momentary spike of apprehension as to what he might have scented after that last thought but then the embarrassment was swept away by more tears and the ache of her heart.

She would not be able to knock the demon Lord out with her hiraikotsu, she reflected. She tried to see herself getting angry at his advances, tried to see herself proud and icy and dignified but the picture would not form. She could only see those depthless golden eyes concentrated on her as he had his way with her. All she could imagine was her yielding to his sure, rough caresses.

Miroku's touch had never been sure.

The next moment, she was stumbling to her feet, lightheaded because of hours of crying, tears still flowing down her cheek.

She staggered towards him, hand outstretched, and the demon Lord just stood there, watching, watching.

Then her trembling, tearstained, dirty hand was on the neck of his haori, on the skin of his neck and it did not bother her that the taiyoukai might not take kindly to such an assault on his person, might cut her arm off for the insult or strike her dead where she stood. She felt drunk, intoxicated, but on her tears, instead of alcohol, on the pain of the years old wound torn raw by one too many indifferent rejections.

If she had been a little less sad and a little less hurt, she would not have believed herself capable of such wantonness, such blatant sexual display but the years of proper conduct, years of watching from the outside as her peers giggled and squealed over makeup and young men, years of being a warrior instead of a girl finally caught up with her and all the pain and the sadness rebelled inside her, refused to accept one more ounce of pain, refused to be overlooked.

Soft pink lips rose up to the still demon Lord's and Sango closed her eyes, abandoning virtue as Miroku had abandoned her, and kissed him.

Then there were clawed hands on her wrists and Sesshoumaru's kimono was wrenched from her grasp as her back hit the hard trunk of a tree and when she opened her eyes, burning gold blanked out the rest of the world from her.

Her breathing had sped up, not from fear but from his closeness, from the strong, imperturbable beautiful demon Lord in front of her and mindless of the death grip on her wrists, she thrust her hips forward, grinding against the Sesshoumaru's groin.

The realization that he was unaffected, not erect, burned her cheeks with humiliation, added to her feeling of inadequacy.

"Taiji-ya," he murmured in that dark, low voice. She was looking up at him blankly, watching those perfect lips form the word that had been the bane of her existence since she could remember.

Sesshoumaru's lips were softer than hers.

"Is that monk not around to rut on you today?" he asked, and Sango throbbed at the uncharacteristically crass cruel words, as if she was not worth the effort of being tactful.

She could hear the amusement in his voice, could see the mocking in his amber eyes, could see him placing her in with the rest of the human race, could see that she was setting a bad example, was helping lower the entire human race in his eyes and for once, she did not care.

Where his cruel hint at her loose moral character would have made her livid at any other time, today it did not faze her in the least except to make her hotter, wilder, more wanton.

She pressed up against him, against the rough, implacable metal armour on his chest. He breasts flattened easily against it, made her already sore and pebbled nipples almost burn with need and she threw her head back and moaned, content to allow his grip on her to keep her standing up.

There was a sudden, low laugh from the demon and she was slammed back harder on the tree, held against it by her pinned wrists alone. Sango looked up to see that the amber eyes had acquired a steely glint, one which made her shiver.

A clawed hand probing under her dress, at her virgin entrance, made her gasp and struggle in his grip. Her knee came up reflexively to jab him in the crotch, hard enough to give her room to twist out of his grasp but a swift hard kick to her shins made her gasp with pain and she would have collapsed to the floor if it hadn't been for her wrists held hard against the tree.

Tears sprung to her eyes again, this time out of pain and a small smile appeared on the demon Lord's lips. Lethal fangs glinted behind the smile and Sango stared, mesmerized.

The demon Lord seemed to be taking care to not touch her with his body. His gaze made it apparent that he did not want to be soiled by her.

That would have been fine with her, except that this meant she got no contact, no touch on her body and she almost whined, wriggling again, this time to get closer.

A large clawed thumb and finger gripped her relatively tiny clit haad and Sango cried out at the incredible sensation, cheeks burning red as her body reacted to the touch, gushing juices at her already soaked entrance, soaking his hand with her sticky essence.

Sesshoumaru looked down at his hand and then back up at her to meet her eyes, looking stern and fierce. Looking into them, Sango had the sudden image of her father, berating her for being inattentive during her lessons. She had always been his favourite, his perfect warrior. He had the highest expectations of her and all her life, she had tried her hardest to live up to them.

What would he think of her now if he saw her spreading her legs for a homicidal youkai?

A stab of guilt went through her heart as she realized how ashamed he would be of her. Her father would never forgive such shameless behaviour in his daughter. Her father would never forgive her…

Then a razor thin claw sliced a razor thin line on her swollen, throbbing clit and she screamed, all guilt and shame and coherent thought fleeing. She allowed herself to go limp in the arms of this man, allowed herself for once to give up control to another.

She almost panted with need as the bleeding cut stung like crazy, every touch making the pain worse, yet she thought she would die if he stopped touching her.

"M-more," she moaned, voice high and breathless and silly and she was rewarded with his thumb roughly rubbing her sex, tracing precise, threatening circles over her entrance. If he stabbed her with his fingers, she would no longer be a virgin. She would have lost something that was everything to a girl. She would never be a girl again. If he stabbed her with his claw-tipped fingers now, scratched her delicate walls from the inside, there was nothing she could do about it. Her father would have been devastated.

But her father was dead.

Almost eagerly, she waited for the intense pain and pleasure of penetration.

But the fingers did nothing more than play with her. She growled low in her throat, aroused and frustrated.

Her eyes, dry and puffy from crying trailed down to his groin to see if he had at last been affected but the long obi and baggy hakama concealed her prize from her eyes.

"Youkai," she whispered, and her voice raw and harsh from need now. "Fuck me."

The words fell between them heavily, like a rock. Sango had never said those words before, had never thought she would ever say those words. And yet, when she said them to this man here, they felt and sounded natural, as if she's been used to his all her life.

The demon laughed again - low and beautiful with that characteristic flash of fangs. "A human bitch does not deserve the touch of a youkai."

Still he held her away from him, a small distance between them that she could not cross no matter how she struggled. Her strength was no match for his so all that remained for her then were words.

"You are touching me now, demon," she retorted.

Clawed fingers were at her throat for a moment, circling, considering. The grip tightened, Sango couldn't breathe and below, she throbbed, harder than ever.

Then his knee was forced between her legs, almost raising her off the ground, making her ride him, while the hand around her throat choked her, cut her life off little by little and she closed her trembling thighs around him and humped his leg like the bitch that he had called her.

She was strong and her legs were lean and muscled from years of training and leaping and crouching but with the youkai's steel appendage between her thighs, she felt weak, inadequate.

The grip around her throat tightened impossibly and just when she was about to pass out, he loosened his grip abruptly, allowing precious oxygen to rush back to her brain. She opened her mouth to take in much needed gulps of air and then his lips were on hers as he kissed her, harsh and impersonal. Her need for air was once again lost it's priority as she her attention was captured by the large tongue fucking her mouth ruthlessly and the knee grinding into her sex.

She came harder than she had ever done in her life with a high pitched whine and her vision went black. Sesshoumaru allowed her unconscious body to drop carelessly to the forest floor and stepped away.

Kneeling down gracefully, Sesshoumaru wiped his hand that was sticky with her juices, on the front of her dishevelled kimono. Then he got to his feet and walked away.

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><p>Sango regained consciousness with the taste of blood in her mouth. Sesshoumaru had sliced her lip and now it was bleeding copiously. She got to her feet shakily and stumbled, feeling bruised between her legs from the abuse of his hard thigh….yet he had not been the one who assaulted her. He had not touched her against her will; in fact, he had barely touched her at all. She was the one who had done this to herself.<p>

Every part of her body ached, from her brusied throat to her back that had been slammed against the tree to her raw, almost bloody wrists.

Yet she felt calmer than she could ever remember feeling.

She went to a stream, cleaned off the evidence of the youkai, dressed and went back to camp.

When her friends worriedly asked what had caused the injuries, she told them she had encountered a youkai in the woods.

….which was true enough.

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><p>Miroku was the first to notice the change in her, the indefinable, unnameable something that suddenly made him feel as though she was out of his reach.<p>

And the next time he surreptitiously grabbed her bottom, she looked at him flatly, without a hint of a blush, calmly lifted his hand off her bottom, held it upto his eyes, released it and walked away. Miroku noted with wide eyes that her hand did not twitch towards hiraikotsu nor did she eye his cheek murderously as she often did before she slapped him.

…..and it hurt him more than any of her slaps or whacks had ever done.

...'o'...

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><p>AN: Review please! ^.^


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